


This Is Your Song

by Joolzmp7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, Infatuation, M/M, Musicians, Pre-Slash, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Song writing, Voyeurism, introductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joolzmp7/pseuds/Joolzmp7
Summary: John takes an interest in the student in the building opposite his own.  He watches him from the shadows and after hearing him play a piece of music, John weaves it into his own song.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Это твоя песня](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10696659) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> This story has now been translated into Russian by the fabulous Little_Unicorn so click on either of the links below to read that. Thanks Little_Unicorn. :)
> 
> I am posting the translation your wonderful story here https://ficbook.net/readfic/5466739 ( Russian fanfiction website ) and here http://archiveofourown.org/works/10696659

This Is Your Song

By Joolz

 

He was at it again. John looked to the dorm across from him and saw the tall, dark haired student pacing up and down, talking to a skull on his desk. Well, he assumed that’s what he was doing. Sometimes he would hold the skull up and gesticulate wildly, looking like a half-crazed Hamlet talking to his Yorick. John always smiled to himself when he saw him heft the skull again and was reminded of that analogy.

He assumed the other boy must be doing an English Literature or Drama degree and was running lines, but he settled himself more comfortably into the chair at his desk, in front of the window, for a prolonged viewing. John found himself doing this more and more frequently. He was seemingly fascinated by his neighbour and would spend longer gazing out of the window than focusing on his own work. He would often come back to his senses realising that he’d been there so long that the room had become dark around him and he’d have to shake himself and get back to completing his essays or revision before the whole night was gone.

John didn’t share any lessons with the other student, obviously, or he would have known who he was. He always kept a look out for him when he was walking around the university, though, just in case he spotted him and could work out something more about him.

After rugby practise one evening, John was heading back across campus and thought he caught a glimpse of dark curls disappearing into the Music Building. This was his chance. He had to check if that really was him, and if so, what he was doing. When he got inside the building, the halls were empty and silent; all regular classes having finished for the day. He peered in the windows of each room but none seemed to be occupied so he took the stairs to try the upper floor.

These were clearly the practise rooms and in the second one he passed he saw a group of girls singing, one accompanying them on the piano. Further up on the opposite side he saw a couple with woodwind instruments following along to some sheet music. He had once dabbled with the clarinet himself but had soon settled on his preferred instrument of guitar. He’d brought it to University with him and would often strum quietly to himself in his room. If he wanted to play properly he went up on the roof so that he wouldn’t disturb any of his neighbours inside. He hadn’t really thought about coming here to the music building but it was clear that could have provided another option for him. He might have looked in to it further if he hadn’t seen where the caretaker kept the key to the roof access and, since then, made use of it on several occasions.

He liked it up there on top of his building. It gave a great view over the campus and he could have time to himself to sit and compose whenever he felt like it. None of his friends knew it, but he had quite a repertoire of his own songs. He had a little book which he always carried with him and he would often write down a phrase that appealed to him or a few notes that he felt might lead somewhere, and then play around with them later when he was on his own.

The mysterious boy had not been in any of the other rooms he’d passed so far. There was only one left at the end so John crept nearer and peeked in. Success! There, facing out of the window, was the person he had been looking for. He was playing the violin and, not only that, but he was playing it brilliantly. He wasn’t reading the music, he obviously knew it by heart, and he was drawing such beautiful sounds from the instrument that John just stood in the shadow of the door, gaping.

He didn’t know how long he just stood there watching in awe, but he didn’t move until one of the doors back down the corridor opened and the students within all piled out, laughing and joking. He quickly stepped into the doorway opposite, pressing himself back against the door to remain hidden. When they had gone he moved back to watch the violinist again, trying to pluck up the courage to push open the door and say hello. As John neared the window panel, though, he saw him packing away the violin and preparing to leave. He panicked. He hadn’t managed to psych himself up enough to speak to him yet so he scarpered down the corridor, quickly leaving the building.

He made his way back to his room and didn’t stop to draw breath until he closed his own door behind him. He stood back against the wall with the lights off and waited to see if the boy opposite would also be returning to his room. He was in luck because the lights came on in the boy’s room and he saw him putting his violin case down on the table before disappearing off to the side, presumably to lie down on his bed.

John sat on his own bed and just thought back over his evening. The playing had been beautiful. The boy had performed a few classical pieces, which John had recognised, all from memory. Right at the end he had played a different sort of piece. It had a more haunting type of melody and one phrase from it had stuck with John and his fingers were itching to try it out for himself. He took out his guitar and tried to remember the notes. He got it after a couple of attempts and when he was confident of it, he played it through again quietly, letting his fingers just riff off the tune.

He decided he needed to play this properly so he locked his door and headed off to the roof access. He’d previously taken a squashy pillow up there which he kept covered in plastic so that it didn’t get soaked when it rained. He pulled it out now and got himself settled in the lee of one of the chimneys and began playing around with the new tune. He thought of the boy as he played and snippets of lines about dark, curly hair and strong cheek bones sprang to his mind so he started trying to fit the lyrics together with the melody he was creating. He kept stopping to write things down in his notebook, changing the phrasing occasionally when something sounded better another way.

By the time he was finished he had a tune with which he was quite pleased. The melody had the thread of the other tune woven through it with his own flairs and twirls added, and the words seemed to capture the allure of his mysterious neighbour.

John was just putting his guitar back in its case in readiness for leaving when he heard a scraping noise coming from the door. He ducked behind the chimney, sure that he would get in trouble if the caretaker found him up here. He heard footsteps walking across the roof towards the cushion which he hadn’t had time to hide before he’d dashed away. He heard a deep baritone voice enunciate quite clearly.

“You might as well come out. I can hear you breathing there behind the chimney.”

Damn! He was busted. He’d better go out to face the music, though he didn’t recall the caretaker’s voice sounding quite so pleasant previously. He came out from his hiding place, readying his excuses, and was halted in his tracks when he saw whom it was that was standing in front of him.

“It’s you!”

“It is, indeed.”

“I… You… How did you know I was up here?”

“I heard you playing and guessed this was where you would be. I’ve seen you come up here before.”

“You were watching me?”

“I think it’s only fair, don’t you? You do seem to spend an inordinate amount of time watching me.”

John blushed a deep red. “Oh, um, sorry about that. I didn’t know you saw me.”

“It would be a little hard to miss. Even when you think you are being subtle and sitting in the dark, it is quite evident where your attention is focused.”

John couldn’t really get any redder and he stuttered out another apology.

“S..s..sorry!”

“It’s fine. If it had bothered me I would have taken steps to divert your attention or simply closed my curtains.”

“Okay, right.” John looked a little stumped. He hadn’t expected to come face to face with the focus of his interest in such an abrupt manner. “In that case, can I ask if you are a drama major?”

“Drama? No, what gave you that idea?”

“It’s just with the whole Hamlet and Yorick thing?”

“Ah, you mean Anthony, I assume. I like to bounce my ideas off someone and Anthony very rarely answers back,” he gave a close-lipped smile. “It helps to talk out loud and he doesn’t subject me to the verbal diarrhoea I get when I talk to anyone else around here.”

“Oh sorry. Again. I can just go.”

The other boy looked puzzled for a moment. “Why?”

“Well, I don’t want to subject you to any form of diarrhoea - wholly unpleasant.”

“If I didn’t wish to talk to you, I wouldn’t have come over here.”

“Why did you come over here?”

“I thought I would pay back your little visit to me?”

“What? How do you know that? Did you see me?”

“I saw you in the distance when I was heading into the Music Building and realised from the way you suddenly stopped that you had seen me, too. I anticipated you would follow me. You were clearly approaching the stage of attempting contact as your regard has become more blatant recently. When I came out from the practise room I heard footsteps rapidly disappearing down the stairs. I saw evidence of mud from the rugby field outside the door which could only have been from you as it was newly damp and the shoe size exactly matched your rugby boots.”

“How could you possibly know my shoe size?”

“That was an easy deduction based on your height and body size. Plus, I’ve seen your feet up on the desk when you’ve been revising.”

“That’s cheating.” John grinned.

“That’s using my senses,” the boy smiled back. “I saw a few more specks of mud along the path back towards our accommodation buildings which veered off in your direction instead of my own. When I reached my room I could see you standing in the dark looking towards my room. My suspicions were confirmed when I heard some strumming coming from your room which was attempting, and finally succeeding, to match something I, myself, had been playing earlier.”

“How could you hear that, I was only doing it very quietly?”

“My hearing is extremely acute. I decided that if you wanted contact I would oblige so I came over here. When I approached I heard the music coming much louder from the roof so I picked the lock and here we are.”

“That… was amazing.”

“Picking a lock?”

“No. The way you worked all that out.”

“Really?”

“It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.”

John burst out laughing. The boy grinned back at him, seemingly astounded to have achieved such a reaction and to be a part of the laughter instead of the target.

“That really was amazing. You worked all that out just from a bit of mud and a wisp of music?”

“I’ve done more with less. That was actually quite easy. Simple observation.”

“Well, I’m sure I could never have done that. It was very impressive.”

The boy seemed to preen at the continued praise, as if it was unfamiliar to him; and maybe it was if the usual reaction he received was to have people telling him to piss off.

“May I ask you a question now?”

“By all means.”

“What were you playing?”

“You were right; it was from what I heard you playing before. A recurring phrase just caught my fancy so I was messing around with it. It wasn’t something I had heard before. Who was the composer?”

The boy’s eyelids lowered and he seemed to blush slightly before quietly adding, “Me.”

“Really! Wow, it was so beautiful.”

The boy reddened further. “What were you doing with it?”

It was John’s turn to look a little embarrassed. “Well, I… I write songs and that tune just spoke to me and I weaved it into a whole song.”

“Would you allow me to hear it?”

“Oh, it really isn’t good enough for anyone else to hear.”

“From the bits I heard from afar, it sounded very interesting. I would be keen to see how you had interpreted my own composition.”

John was a bit reluctant but the boy seemed genuinely interested. He got his guitar out, which he had left behind the chimney, and set himself up comfortably. He fingered through the first couple of notes but wasn’t happy with it so he stopped, cleared his throat and started again.

He sang the song, hesitantly at first, but slowly gaining in confidence as he went through. When he was finished he kept his head bent over his guitar, unsure if he wanted to see what the other boy thought of the way he had mauled his creation. He peeked up through his lashes, then raised his head as he saw the stunned look on his face.

“Was it that bad?”

“You… wrote that for me?”

“Yes. It just sprang into my head when I heard that music. I couldn’t help myself.”

“I… I don’t know what to say. No-one has ever written me a song before.”

“Did you like it?”

“I did. The way you turned my composition into something so uplifting was inspired. You have a real talent.”

John blushed and smiled shyly at the compliment. “Well, the real talent was yours for writing it in the first place.”

The other boy grinned at him. “We seem to be forming a mutual appreciation society.” He looked down at the floor then raised his head, a little unsure. “Do you think we could play it together?”

John could think of nothing better. He grinned back, “I would love to.”

“Shall we go over to my room and I can get my violin?”

“I don’t actually know which one is your room – from inside I mean – and I don’t even know your name. I’m John Watson, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, John. The name is Sherlock Holmes and the room number is 221B.”

~*~

Fin

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Thanks to A.


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